


Where the Lycoris Died

by nothing-on-us (minatoarisatoast)



Series: Where the Lycoris Blooms [5]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Flower Language, M/M, Spoilers, so fair warning!, there is some blood and slightly disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minatoarisatoast/pseuds/nothing-on-us
Summary: "Hey." The word was far too casual, a word reserved for chance meetings and parties and acquaintances you'd run into on the street. It wasn't a word one typically used to greet someone you'd both betrayed and sacrificed yourself for.It simply wasn’t right. The dead weren’t supposed to speak.---Written for the Crimson Compendium zine! All illustrations were done by @appendorange (Twitter/Tumblr).





	1. Chapter 1

 

**The First Night**

* * *

 

 When Akira Kurusu woke up, the sky was red.

That was the first thing he noticed, eyes still glued to the sky as he rolled over, coarse asphalt biting into his left arm. The familiar scent of playtime and childhood colored the air, hanging over him like a long-forgotten memory.

The second thing he noticed was the laughter.

The laughter was what pulled him to his feet. It bit into what felt like his very soul, mocking and childish and everything in between. It screeched and it giggled and it beckoned for him to join the dance, join the dance, join the dance, for life is finite and nothing is forever.

Akira tuned the laughter out. He needed to get his bearings first. Still the laughter hovered over him, like a forgotten shadow, ready to embrace him if only he’d let it.

He stood in an empty parking lot, devoid of cars or human life. The only sign that anyone had ever been here or would ever return was a single rusty, old bike that leaned against a sagging, chain-link fence. The fence surrounded the area like a cold embrace, the only way in or out seeming to be the metal gate that lay shut and padlocked to his left. A short, squat building watched over the lot, like a sentry doomed to its post while the world crumbled and everyone else danced, danced--

The laughter was back. It crept into his heart like warm fingers on a cold night, and Akira wanted so desperately to let it in, to follow it, to see where it might lead him--

He had to get out of this lot.

He nearly stumbled trying to get to the fence, his legs feeling like wood beneath him. Hooking his fingers around the loops, he pulled himself up, cutting his hand on a loose wire in his haste.

Before he knew it, he balanced precariously atop the fence, palms slick with sweat. Inhaling sharply, he let go, landing safely on the other side with a soft _thud_.

The ground was _hard_. Wincing, Akira rubbed his knee, and took a quick look around. The ground sloped downward, dotted with sparse clumps of brown grass. Akira counted two used cigarettes stamped in the dirt. There was nobody around.

Where was the laughter coming from?

Akira took a few cautious steps and soon broke into a run, following the laughter. His heart leaped in his chest, like a caged bird begging to be let free. He barely resisted letting out a joyful shout.

Before he knew it, he stood at the bottom of the hill. The laughter was louder now; it rang so brightly it nearly hurt his ears. But Akira didn’t care. The laughter welcomed him, enveloped him, claimed him--

Just a little closer.

The ground beneath him turned to wood chips, and the laughter stopped, pulling its warm fingers away from his chest and leaving him cold. Suddenly drained, it took Akira a brief moment to notice the playground spread out before him, abandoned like the lot.

No, wait-- not abandoned. A soft creaking sound whispered through the wood chips and nets and rusted bars, reaching Akira’s ears and sending a chill down his spine. The whole playground was washed in the same red as the sky, and it was as if without the laughter the world had suddenly turned into angles and shadows.

His legs moving on their own, he made his way through the boneyard of rust and lost memories. Flinching as he brushed up against cold metal, he suddenly found himself rooted in place.

The creaking stopped. Everything was still for five whole heartbeats as Akira found himself face-to-face with someone he thought he’d never see again.

Goro Akechi looked well for someone who’d died months ago. He sat on a swing set, tinged red like everything else in this godforsaken place, the seat a tad too small for him and far too close to the ground. His eyes widened when he saw Akira, and for a moment he, too, was frozen-- as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. The moment passed, pale lips curving into a smile.

"Hey." The word was far too casual, a word reserved for chance meetings and parties and acquaintances you'd run into on the street. It wasn't a word one typically used to greet someone you'd both betrayed and sacrificed yourself for.

It simply wasn’t right. The dead weren’t supposed to speak.

Akira's world spun, red and gray and metal blurring together like Yusuke's paints when mixed. His throat felt dry, and he swallowed, swallowed again, words he'd never forgotten drying up on his tongue and choking him, choking him--

Tears pricked his eyes as he stumbled forward toward Goro, pulling him off the swing and into an embrace, unsure whether to hold him or strangle him. His heart hurt, and he was sure it was bleeding now, the blood filling up his chest and throat and pouring out of his mouth--

"Are you alright?" Goro asked, his voice laced with an uncharastically deep sense of caring.

It was a stupid question. But Akira nodded anyway, taking a deep, shuddering breath and looking up at the unforgiving sky. Pulling away from Goro, he simply stood there for a moment, staring at him, blinking to make sure he wasn't going to disappear.

Goro sat back down on his swing, observing him silently with quiet brown eyes. Still a little dizzy, Akira took the swing beside him.

It was silent for several more heartbeats before Akira remembered how to speak.

"You're...alive," he managed to choke out. His chest began to hurt again, tiny needles stabbing at his heart. Was this only a dream? Could you feel pain in dreams? He couldn't...think...

The next words slapped him in the face, cold and cruel and truthful. "I died in the Metaverse."

Akira shook his head, the quick, panicky feeling of denial setting in. If this was a dream, his subconscious was cruel indeed. "You're here. You're _here_. You made it out."

Goro smiled sadly, brown eyes swimming with too many unshed tears. "No...I didn't."

His mouth open, ready to protest, Akira's heart prickled again as Goro tugged his sleeve up, leaning backward.

Blood-red spider lilies bloomed on Goro's wrist, their slender stems snaking beneath his pale skin. Only a couple dotted the rest of his arm, petals spread wide as if in greeting. All Akira could do was stare, a single hand covering his mouth, nausea twisting his insides.

Panic rose up in his throat like bile. "What is that, Goro? _What the hell is that_?"

The boy smiled weakly and tugged his sleeve down, his tone light and gentle, yet sorrowful. "I'm gone. It's time for you to accept that."

The words had a certain finality to them, not unlike a coffin lid being nailed shut. Akira wanted to scream. He wanted to scream, cry, shout--   _anything_ but just sit here quietly and take the pain as a wound that had been plaguing him for months was torn open, fresh and raw. Fighting these urges, he forced himself to be still for one long, agonizing moment.

Goro opened his mouth as if to speak, swallowed, and tried again. “I remember this place.”

“What are you talking about?” Akira’s words came out all gravelly, like sand was stuck in his throat.

Goro tilted his head. “The place we’re in right now. It’s more than just a dream.”

Three heartbeats passed. “...Where are we, then?”

Goro’s gaze flitted toward the ground. “...I came here once, as a small child. With...with my mother.”

Another long pause. Akira recalled long afternoons at Leblanc, when Goro had first started visiting. He’d told Akira about his mother then, hadn’t he?

Things had been so much simpler then.

 

* * *

 

 _“_ _M-mom?” The boy whimpered, warm tears disappearing into the cold, unforgiving ground. His head hurt. Both of his knees stung, fresh red scrapes blooming like blossoms on his pale skin._

_The older boys just grinned maliciously at him, like wolves who’d cornered their prey. One of the boys, taller than the others, curled his lips into a nasty, twisted smile. Goro flinched as the boy kicked him swiftly in the side, fresh pain screaming through his body._

_“Mom!”_

_The next few minutes passed in a blur of colors and voices. Someone else had rescued him-- someone else’s mother, probably. The playground had been mostly empty, the other children having fled once the older boys had arrived._

_“How horrible…” Faceless voices murmured sympathetically. Someone pressed a clean cloth to one of his knees._

_Where was Mom?_

 

* * *

 

 “She’d been so happy that morning,” Goro continued, his voice and eyes somewhere far, far away. “She’d insisted on going to the park. It was supposed to be a day for just the two of us.”

Akira said nothing.

Goro continued. “Shortly after we got to the park, I turned around and she was gone. She ran off, without me. Without her son.”

“I’m sorry, Goro…” Akira couldn’t say anything else. Somewhere in his heart, a little voice whispered that he didn’t have the right to speak. All he could do was listen.

“We found her afterwards, you know.” Goro’s voice was cold now, but it wavered slightly. “Some adults helped me look for her. We found her curled up under a tree, asleep. She’d been crying.”

Akira wasn’t aware that he’d taken Goro’s hand until a soft petal brushed against his skin. They sat like that for a long, comfortable moment, until Goro pulled away. Just like that, Akira’s hand was cold.

“Akira…”

“Hmm…?”

“Do the Phantom Thieves still remember me?”

A chill ran down Akira’s spine, and the world started to spin. “I--”

His tongue was lead. Akira’s hands went numb as he pressed them to his face, sparks dancing before his eyes. His heart was filling up with blood, and it was going to overflow any second now, any second--

He was falling.

It was so, so cold.

A second before Akira Kurusu woke up, his eyes met Goro Akechi’s. The boy looked on helplessly, and all Akira could see in that moment-- all he could _feel_ \-- was Goro’s heartbeat, keeping him standing and watching and very much _alive._

For a split second, he wasn’t sure which of them was the dead one.

 

* * *

 

Akira awoke with a start, heart pounding, his pillow drenched in sweat. Morning light leaked in through the blinds. He smelled waffles, and knew his dad was cooking.

It was too damn nice of a morning.

The boy rolled over and reached for his phone. He needed to talk to someone. Yawning, he selected a conversation and typed out a greeting.

 

> Akira Kurusu: Hey.
> 
> Ryuji Sakamoto: Hey, man! What’s up?

 

Akira typed out a response, deleted it, and typed it again, finger hovering over the “Send” button.

 

> Akira Kurusu: Nothing much. I had a weird dream.

 

 _Ryuji Sakamoto is typing._ Akira didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let it all out, vision swimming.

 

> Ryuji Sakamoto: Uh...It’s not, y’know, one of those kinds of dreams, is it?

 

Akira chuckled, but he still felt unsettled.

 

> Akira Kurusu: No, it’s not. Ryuji, what do you remember from Shido’s palace?
> 
> Ryuji Sakamoto: Dude...You already asked me that question. Yesterday. And the day before.

 

Akira’s head swam. Had he?

 

> Ryuji Sakamoto: Anyway, you feeling okay, man? I’m worried about you. Ann is, too. Ever since the Phantom Thieves disbanded, you’ve been acting a little out of it.
> 
> Akira Kurusu: I’m fine.
> 
> Ryuji Sakamoto: Hey, wait a minute. You haven’t been dreaming about that “Goro” guy, have you?

 

Taken aback by this, Akira hesitated. Before he could say anything more, Ryuji sent a follow-up message.

 

> Ryuji Sakamoto: Dude. Imaginary friends are fine when you’re a kid, but at some point, you gotta stop, y’know?

 

Akira let go of his phone, letting it tumble off his bed and onto the floor with a dull “thunk”. Hot tears dripped onto his pillow.

He’d been so sure that talking to someone could make it better.

If anything, talking to Ryuji had only made it worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Second Night**

* * *

 

The second night, Akira awoke to voices chattering, talking, laughing. Lying on his back, the boy slowly opened his eyes…

...And promptly sat up, heart pounding. He was sitting in the middle of a street, no cars in sight. He cautiously got up, eyes glancing at the sky.

It was red. He shuddered. The red consumed him, and he could almost feel it crawling oppressively down his throat. He tried to swallow-- once, twice. Nothing happened, so he closed his eyes before the rising panic could get to him.

He let the voices wash over him, and for a minute he was somewhere else-- somewhere  _ normal _ , with people and cars and--

“Akira…?”

His ears nearly missed his name, lost as it was in the background noise. Goro was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against an abandoned food stand. His eyes searched the street, until they finally found Akira. His face lit up.

Akira froze. Something was wrong.

Cruel red petals sprouted out of Goro’s left eye socket. Akira felt a familiar wave of nausea rise up at the sight, and quickly swallowed it down. He smiled weakly at his...friend? Rival?

Did it even matter anymore?

“Your eye.” The words slipped out unbidden before he could stop them. He instantly regretted opening his mouth as the smile on Goro’s face evaporated.

“I see.” Goro sighed and touched a finger to the flower. It came away red. His mouth twisted as he realized what he'd just said. “Or rather, I don't.”

Akira sat down beside him, and hesitated before lacing his fingers through Goro’s. The boy stiffened at the touch, but he didn't pull away.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Akira gave their surroundings a second look. “Do you remember this place?”

Goro paused and exhaled slowly, pain written on his face. “I...I do.”

“Do you feel comfortable talking about it?”

“Of course.” His features hardened, and for a moment Akira was able to catch a glimpse of the plastic Detective Prince he and the Phantom Thieves had once known. The boy that, once in a while, had been prone to letting his mask slip away, just enough for Akira to see the cracks in his armor.

 

* * *

 

_ The cheap strawberry pastry was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He took another bite as the man at the food stand counted out their change, and smiled up at the sky, which was clear-- not a cloud in sight. _

_ It had been a long time since he’d seen his mom this happy. She smiled at everyone, rose-pink cheeks shining with laughter. He’d even caught her waving at the florist, who they’d run into on this busy street. _

_ She didn’t even cry when the florist didn’t wave back. _

_ Everything seemed a little brighter. _

_ Goro felt it when his mother stopped walking. The boy tugged impatiently on her hand. What was the hold-up? _

_ Her hand began to tremble. He pulled away, staring up at his mother with wide eyes. She was crying-- great, shuddering sobs that shook her slender frame. _

_ He followed her gaze to a flyer pinned to the side of a building. A bald man smiled up at them from the paper. Goro didn’t see the problem. The man looked nice, and a small part of him wanted to smile back. _

_ His mother fell to her knees. Goro tugged at her hand. “Mom…” _

_ People were starting to stare. _

_ The pastry had gotten cold. Its sweetness, which had seemed so alluring before, now tasted sickly. _

_ The sky, which had been so bright before, no longer looked so blue. _

 

* * *

 

Akira didn’t know what to say. A simple “I’m sorry” felt too superficial. He felt a dull irony at the fact that “I hope things get better for you” was no longer an option.

Instead, he stared at the asphalt and gave Goro’s hand a reassuring squeeze with no energy behind it. He dreaded these next words with every fiber of his being, but didn’t Goro need to hear them anyway?

“The Phantom Thieves don’t remember you.” He recalled his conversation with Ryuji that morning, and the hollow feeling that had made a home in his chest since then.

Pain flashed across Goro’s face, like he’d been slapped. “They...they don’t.” His words were part question, part statement.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Goro’s words were edged with steel now, but his hand was shaking. A single petal fluttered to the ground between them, and Akira couldn’t help but stare.

“I could’ve saved you.”

Goro neither agreed nor disagreed with that statement. He got up, stretched, sat back down. When he did this, one of his pant legs rode up a little, exposing red petals around his ankle. Akira tore his eyes away, suddenly fascinated with the patch of sidewalk beside him.

“You know…” Goro started.

“Hmm?”

“Humans are determined beings.”

“How so?” Akira wasn’t sure how to make eye contact with Goro anymore-- not with that cursed flower in the way. He settled for staring at their hands, fingers interlocked once more.

“If a human falls into the depths of Hell itself, even if there’s only one little string they can use to climb out, they’ll take it.”

Akira’s breath caught in his throat. The expression on Goro’s face was still, not unlike that mask he’d worn on countless visits to Leblanc. “What makes you so sure about that?”

A small smile flickered to life on Goro’s face. “Because I did.”

“You did…?”

“I saw that chance. It was a small one, but I took it.” His expression darkened.

Akira choked on his next words. “You just didn’t realize your string led to a noose.”

Goro hesitated, as if choosing his next words carefully. “When I first met you...I had no knowledge of the plans fate had for us. The world works in strange ways, doesn’t it?”

As if in response, the voices and chatter, which had so quickly faded into the background, ceased. The air grew still, and Akira shivered as a chill settled into his bones.

Something was wrong.

Akira’s head began to pound, a dull pain blooming behind his eyes. “I...I can’t remember our first meeting.” Was the world spinning, or was he just dizzy? “I…”

Before everything disappeared, Akira saw Goro’s tears hit the ground, shock written on a face that, if it weren’t for the flower, might have been more familiar to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Third Night**

* * *

 

He woke up this time with chilly air biting his face and cold asphalt biting into his back. The wind whistled, its shrill screams piercing the air. He lay there for several minutes, lacking the energy to get up, red flowers blooming behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes. They weren’t real, he knew, but some part of him wondered if the blossoms were contagious. If he, too, would end up like Goro if he kept meeting with him.  
If that was the case, was the price worth it?

He forced himself to his feet, and that was when he realized-- the screaming of the wind didn’t sound right. Was something wrong with his head? Was he hearing things?

When he got up, the shrieking sounded less like the wind and started sounding more and more like the wails of a child. Great sobs filled his ears, and, despite himself, Akira covered them with his sleeves, trying to block the noise out.

Maybe a week ago, he would have tried to find the source; tried to _do_ something about it.

Maybe a week ago he wouldn’t have been so weak.

His back was sore from having stayed on the ground for so long. Rubbing his shoulders, he took in the red sky, the buildings; he scanned the white lines painted on the unforgiving ground. This parking lot was different from the one he’d first woken up in, yet something about it felt familiar.

His eyes took in the three parked cars, doors rusted shut like they hid secrets. One car’s window had shattered, glass shards littering the ground like ice in the middle of winter, fragments reflecting the sky’s feeble light.

Something caught his eye; a hint of movement behind one of the cars. Willing his legs to move, he made his way over to the car that had deteriorated the most. Dents decorated its left side, as if it had been in an accident.

Akira peered around the car and exhaled, shuddering. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees as he stood there, looking at him.

Goro stood still, one hand resting on the car as if it were keeping him rooted in reality. Flowers peeked out from under his shirt and sleeves, contrasting sharply against his flesh. But that wasn’t what stopped Akira dead in his tracks.

Goro’s head was turning from side to side, as if he were looking for something-- or rather, _someone_. The boy bit his lip and looked straight ahead; right at Akira.

What stopped Akira dead in his tracks was the fact that Goro was doing this out of habit. It was a useless motion, considering that fact that spider lilies now completely covered his eyes, like a parasitic blindfold.

His breath coming out in short, stuttering gasps, he took a step forward and took Goro’s free hand in his own. The boy jumped, looking around wildly at anything and nothing at all.

“It’s me,” Akira said quickly; too quickly. The boy relaxed, taking his hand away from the metal. He gripped Akira’s hand tightly, as if it were an anchor keeping him from drifting away.

Perhaps it was.

They sat down on the asphalt, Akira guiding Goro, who kept a firm grip on his hand the entire time. Akira leaned against the car. A faint metallic scent laced the air, and blood-red flowers suddenly sprang to life behind Akira’s closed eyes. He blinked and shook his head, suddenly dizzy.

It then occurred to him to ask. “Do you remember this place?”

A long pause. “Describe it to me.”

 

* * *

 

_It was cold. Goro could see his breath hanging in the air, little puffs that brought back memories of when he’d cut open a stuffed animal to see what was inside. He still remembered that day; his mom had scolded him and laughed, then helped him dispose of the evidence._

_It had been one of her good days._

_Today was not a good day, at least not for him. He hadn’t had very many good days since Mom died._

_Wiping away the tears that had sprung unbidden to his eyes, he shook his head. He couldn’t let them see him crying._

_If he cried, the older kids would beat him up, and then it really wouldn’t be a good day._

_He froze, the sound of conversation reaching his ears from around the corner. Someone told a joke, and someone else burst out laughing._

_His breath catching, Goro took off running, his shoes pounding against the asphalt far too loudly for his liking. He knew those voices, and he knew that if they saw him, his day would only get worse._

_He rounded a corner, the parking lot spread out before him. Blindly choosing a car, he ran and hid behind it. Heart in his throat, he sat down, shaking, bringing his knees up to his chin._

_The laughter drifted closer and closer to his hiding spot. It danced madly in the air, taunting him._

You’re weak _, it said._ You’re nothing compared to us _._

_Goro was shaking like a leaf in the wind, now, barely clinging to the moment. He was lost in his head again, recalling the afternoon he’d gotten home from school late only to find his mother’s body bleeding out on the floor._

_It took him several long moments to realize the laughter was gone. Trembling, he got up, only to discover something was stuck to his shoe-- a flyer. Despite the dirt clinging to it and the shoe print he’d left, it was still readable._

_A bald man smiled up at him from the paper, radiating charisma. Something about his smile felt familiar, taking Goro back to one of the last days he’d spent with his mother before her suicide._

_The air tasted like cheap strawberry pastries._

_Goro tore the flyer in half, crumpled it up, then stepped on it for good measure, grinding the paper beneath his foot._

_Then he curled up, cheek against the asphalt, and cried._

 

* * *

 

Akira gave Goro’s hand a squeeze, a lump in his throat.

“What is it?”

“I...I really wish we’d met years ago. Maybe things could’ve turned out differently.”

“I feel the same way. You’re...a special person, Akira.”

Akira flushed pink, despite the nagging feeling that something was wrong. It took him a second to pinpoint what it was. His smile evaporated.

“Goro…”

“What is it?”

Dread bloomed in the pit of his stomach. The world tilted slightly, then righted itself, and the air became colder still. He could see his breath now-- it plumed out in front of him every time he exhaled, and he could’ve sworn the brown grass outside the parking lot was sparkling with the beginnings of frost.

“I have a confession.”

“Hmm…?”

The words spilled out like coffee in a cup that’s been knocked over, dyeing Akira’s reality a couple shades darker. “I can’t remember any moments with you from before Shido’s palace.”

Three heartbeats passed. Akira’s hand was starting to hurt, and he realized that it was because Goro’s grip had tightened. When the brown-haired boy next spoke, his words were broken and fragile.

“Why do you trust me, then?”

Akira looked at the flowers sprouting from Goro’s face. He looked at where Goro’s eyes _should_ be, and something inside him tore a little. He wanted to see those eyes again; those eyes that betrayed so little on television yet overflowed with sadness whenever he came to Leblanc. He remembered those eyes softening, once, when he’d reached across the counter and taken Goro’s hand in his own.

He remembered those eyes widening, as Goro had pulled away.

Akira took a deep breath, words sticking in his throat. “I may not remember what happened before, but one thing I haven't forgotten is how I felt about you.”

Goro was quiet, the air between them thick with expectation and the sudden urge to be truly, irrevocably honest.

“How did you feel about me...Akira?” He said his name tentatively, the five letters heavy with promise and the threat of never being able to go back.

“I…” Akira paused. “I...liked you, Goro. A lot.”

Silence.

“I...liked you too. Akira.”

Heart skipping, Akira laced his fingers with Goro’s and pulled him close.

They kissed once as the world started to spin. It tasted like blood.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Fourth Night**

* * *

 

_My head hurts._

That was the first thought that came to him as he lay there, eyes closed, something cold and hard against the back of his head. Wincing, he pressed a hand to his forehead, as if touching the spot would make it go away.

A sharp pain sliced through his consciousness and his eyes flew open.

_The sky...something’s wrong with the sky..._ Akira thought feverishly. He sat up, eyes tentatively meeting the sky as if testing new waters. It was a horrible, cursed red-- as if someone had been sliced open, head resting against the clouds, hands splayed out against the heavens in a silent scream.

The next thing he registered as strange was the silence. Akira blinked, suddenly feeling unsteady despite the fact that he was sitting down. Tucking a leg under him, he looked around.

A long, twisting crack in the sidewalk beneath him radiated out from where he was sitting-- it was as if he’d fallen from the sky and landed hard enough to make an impact.

Standing up, Akira noticed something else that was odd. Buildings towered up around him, like clawed hands piercing the sky. Many were in various states of disrepair-- though none of the towers had fallen down, many windows looked as if they had been smashed in and rubble littered the street beside him. The air smelled faintly of smoke, and Akira soon located the source-- a car lay on its side in the middle of the street, hood crumpled, tires sliced.

Whoever had touched this place before he came here, they had not been kind.

Akira was sure he’d never been here before. How could he have? And yet, this whole situation struck him as undeniably _familiar_ , as if he could turn around and find himself face-to-face with an old friend. If this was a dream, it was a strange one indeed.

It was then that something tugged at his heart-- something saying, _Here. Here, follow me._ Akira took a step, then paused, unsure. What if the voice led him into danger?

Pain sliced through his skull and he crumpled over, the world spinning around him. He gritted his teeth and bit back a scream. “Okay, _okay._ ”

The pain subsided, darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision. His head was pounding again, and the boy bit back a curse.

What a horrible dream this was.

He stood up and began to pick his way through the rubble, scarcely stopping for fear that he’d be punished again by whatever forces ruled this cruel little world. He took in his surroundings as he went, in case he had to get back to where he started.

He passed a stack of half-melted car tires and began to walk faster-- partly because of the acrid stench of burning rubber, partly because the instinct guiding him had started tugging a little harder. The smell scorched his throat. He was nearly there…

The building’s bricks were scorched black, as if it had been through a fire. As the tug in his chest subsided, Akira stopped walking, the air thick with tension as if something important was supposed to happen.

As if someone was supposed to meet him here.

Akira brushed a finger against the bricks. Ash coated his finger, and he studied it for a moment before wiping it against his shirt.

It didn’t come off.

Someone coughed, a harsh, painful sound that sliced through the air. A chill ran down Akira’s spine.

If he hid, would the pain come back?

Not willing to take that bet, he hesitated and took a step toward the noise. Rounding the corner of the building, he found himself in a dimly-lit alleyway.

An itch rose in his throat and he coughed. Was it just him, or was the air thicker here?

A figure sat slumped against the brick. Apprehensive, Akira made his way to it, his footsteps echoing off the walls. His heart pounding, thoughts racing, he wasn’t sure what to do anymore. What if it attacked him?

The figure didn’t move-- it appeared to be unconscious. Akira knelt before it, heart in his throat.

It was a boy, his long, brown hair slightly disheveled. He lay against the wall as if sleeping, chest rising and falling with each breath. He almost looked...peaceful.

If only. But Akira’s eyes were drawn to the flowers almost immediately, and that illusion shattered as quick as a mirror against cold stone.

Spider-like red blossoms had nearly consumed his body, roots snaking beneath his skin, red peeking out from beneath his shirt and sleeves. They clung to his neck and obscured his eyes, as if the flowers were growing from the eye sockets themselves. A single blossom peeked out from between his lips. It was an unsettling sight.

Akira wanted to throw up. Instead, his hands moved on their own, shaking the boy awake.

The boy awakened with a shuddering cough, shoulders heaving. A single drop of blood snaked down his lips, and Akira couldn’t tell when his eyes opened, or if they opened at all.

The boy smiled, and when he spoke, his voice came out all raspy. “You came.”

Akira said nothing, removing his hands from the boy’s shoulders and folding them in his lap. His hands trembled, and he suddenly felt very, very cold.

“Akira…?”

“Who are you?” The words tumbled out almost instantly. He couldn’t think.

The boy froze. “You don’t remember me.”

“Should I?”

There was a long silence.

The boy choked the word out like it was hurting him. “...No.”

The words came out before he realized it, and they felt familiar but he wasn’t sure why. “Do you...remember this place?”

The boy swallowed a few times and coughed weakly, then lifted his head up, frowning at Akira’s choice of words. “Describe it to me.”

Akira did, then asked again. “Do you remember it?”

The boy thought for a moment, an inexplicable panic rising up in his throat as his breathing got more shallow. “No...No, I don’t.”

“Are...you okay?” Akira cautiously touched the boy’s cheek. It was slick with sweat.

The boy started to cough, a sound that seemed far too loud for the alleyway. His body convulsed, and a couple drops of blood landed on the ground. Akira’s eyes widened. He stepped back, unsure, removing his hand from the boy’s face. Red petals slick with blood clung to the asphalt.

“Wait...wait! Don’t go--” he coughed again. “Please--”

After hesitating for a brief moment, Akira reached for the boy’s hand. It was cold and clammy, and Akira flinched as the flowers brushed against his skin, petals quivering. The boy clung to Akira, pain etched into his face, a silent call for _help_. He didn’t let go.

Akira stayed with him until his very last breath.

The world started to spin.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Fifth Day**

* * *

 

It was cold for spring.

Akira leaned against a tombstone, unwrapping his lunch and quietly observing two people in black. They were the only other people there. One of them laid a white lily on a tombstone. They soon left.

Akira wasn’t sure why he kept visiting this place. He’d never lost someone...had he? Yet, he felt a quiet kinship with the people who visited.

Akira sensed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, but there was nobody there. Red caught his eye, and he was drawn toward a lonely-looking tombstone with a single red flower on it. The name on the tombstone was difficult to make out. He squinted.

“Reiko Akechi”. He breathed the name almost reverently, as if its owner was still watching, still listening.

He suddenly felt the presence of someone standing next to him. It was an old man, who smiled sadly at the boy. He held a wilting bouquet in his left hand. Akira was too distracted to pay much attention to the flowers.

“I remember someone used to visit this grave every year....” Taken aback, Akira remained silent, eyes flitting between the flower on the tombstone and the bouquet. Asphodels. The flowers in the bouquet were asphodels.

The man continued. “I spoke with him once. He asked me a question, and I remember it because it was a rather odd one-- ‘Would you rather die with everyone remembering the mistakes you made in life, or die completely forgotten?’”

Akira looked at him, his curiosity piqued. “And what did you answer?”

“I’d rather die remembered than forgotten.”

“And the boy, do you know what happened to him?”

Silence. “I haven’t seen him since. He never came back.”

The old man’s eyes found the flower, and he smiled at Akira knowingly. He probably thought Akira had brought it. He sighed softly, happily.

“Thank you.”

“...For what?”

“For visiting her. I was afraid she’d been forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” The wind picked up for a moment, and Akira shivered, crossing his arms.

“Of course.” The man looked away, humming softly. “The dead aren’t truly dead until they’re forgotten.”

A chill ran down Akira’s spine as the man walked away, clinging to his asphodels.

Shaking his head, Akira took a closer look at the flower. He remembered it from his time working at the flower shop.

How odd…

Red spider lilies-- lycoris radiata-- don’t bloom this early in the year.

He suddenly felt unsettled, as if someone was watching him. But when he turned around, there was nobody there.


End file.
